


Made For You

by aurumdalseni (kyo_chan)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: I love this ship so much I don't have words, M/M, shulaz, uliro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/aurumdalseni
Summary: Ulaz notices that Shiro refuses to activate his right hand when they spar, and he wants to know why.





	Made For You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Uliro Week - Day 1: Endurance/Weakness  
> Prompted by a lovely tumblr user, which helped to break me out of my writer's block. Hope you enjoy!  
> Many thanks to oldmythos for the beta and support! <3

Ulaz steps back, brings an arm down to block Shiro’s fist. It’s a solid hit. For such a small creature, Shiro’s blows are heavy and strong. He has a keen eye for evaluating his opponent and going for the strikes that will end the battle the quickest. Ulaz comes away from their spars quite often with sore ribs, but he doesn’t complain. He enjoys his bouts with Shiro, and it’s clear from the fierce grin he usually receives at their conclusion, Shiro does as well. Every day they spend on the base shows an improvement in Shiro’s physique as well as his mental state.Every day, they get closer to returning him to his bond with the Black Lion. 

“You’re getting distracted, Ulaz,” Shiro says breathlessly, the words riding on the arc of another swing. 

Ulaz just barely manages to block, his show teeth unapologetic. “My mistake.” A pivot, slide forward, and the back of his hand connects with Shiro’s shoulder. 

Shiro follows the momentum of the hit, staggering into a roll that has him springing back up to his feet in seconds, and he’s already closing in again. Such a stubborn fighter. Ulaz loves it. They carry on like that, losing track of time in the dangerous dance of jabs and sweeps, bodies colliding and flowing back. They leave bruises, knock the breath out of one another, move in to do it again. It’s fierce and intimate. Ulaz learns so many things about his lover that Shiro will never say in words, and it’s an engagement of trust that he’s truly lucky to have. But it always leaves him craving more, their spars last until they are both spent. Shiro endures, Ulaz soaks it all in. 

They have sparred for many days, and never once has Shiro activated his mechanical hand.

Ulaz drapes a cloth around Shiro’s neck when they finish for the day, smoothing back hair soaked with sweat. Shiro leans into him affectionately. 

“May I ask, Shiro, why do you not use your right hand in battle?”

Shiro freezes. Ulaz holds his breath, familiar with this reaction to some of his more sensitive questions. It’s a waiting game to see if Shiro will actually answer it. Ulaz respects when his gentle probing is met with a shake of the head or Shiro quietly telling him he can’t talk about it. Those instances have happened less and less since their arrival to the Blade headquarters, but Ulaz expects it to happen still. There is a lot of damage beneath Shiro’s smile, and even more beneath that which Shiro doesn’t even remember yet.

“It’s not necessary,” Shiro finally says, but the crease of his brow indicates the words don’t quite match up with the sentiment. 

“I did say it was safe not to hold back.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t like using it unless I have to. It’s dangerous, and I don’t want to harm you.”

“Shiro, all of you is dangerous, not just that prosthetic.” Ulaz frowns at the way that makes Shiro flinch. He’s not as good as he used to be at picking and choosing his words, the nature of his role in the Blade making him so much more direct. It means he’s bound to misstep with Shiro, and he dislikes it, but it also seems to be better for Shiro than playing at subtlety. He presses on. “You treat it as though it is a weapon you can choose to engage when the situation demands, but if you look at it objectively, it is merely just a part of you.”

“Yes,” Shiro says tightly, “a part of me that I didn’t-- It is a weapon. It was always meant to be one, wasn’t it?” He turns in Ulaz’s hold to look up, look him right in the face.

Ulaz takes a deep breath, and he smells anger and fear on Shiro underneath the exertion. He realizes he’s walking a thin line, but as always, Shiro deserves the truth. “At its core, it is a tool for making up what was lost. Your hand, your fingers, a part of you.” He slides his hand underneath Shiro’s, letting the prosthetic rest against his palm. It looks so small there, but Ulaz knows well what kind of power it has. “I cannot deny that the druids saw it as a weapon and insisted I craft it as such. It is linked to your quintessence as well as your physical body. It will always be more than just a prosthetic. But the trick to quintessence is that it comes from inside you. Ultimately,  _ you _ have the final say in whether it is a weapon, a tool, or just your right hand. You have used it in non-violent situations, have you not?”

Shiro looks down at his hand on top of Ulaz’s. He steps a little closer, needing to be near. There’s a crease in his brow as he sifts through his memories. “I tried to weld the doors closed when they were going to take the princess away. I wanted so badly to protect her. I’ve...I’ve used it in battle to protect the other paladins. The first time...I had no control over it. It just happened. I think I’ve never gotten over how scary that really was.”

Ulaz tries to think of how to frame his next words into something Shiro would understand best. “It suspect it is like...flying a ship for the first time. You do not know all of its controls, and even though you ultimately have the direction, she is bound to act in ways you do not expect. Frightening ways that make you fear putting your hands on the thrusters again. But that ship becomes a part of you, and so has this hand.” Ulaz traces down the metal seams with clawed fingers, so light, reverent. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling. “This was built for you. A fighter, a capable warrior who needed a second hand to carry the weight of his hope, the hope of those relying on him to survive. Whatever magic has bespelled my work beyond what it was designed for is now  _ your _ magic, Shiro. It will take you time to learn it, but it is not a weakness, nor should it be a thing you always fear. Once you fear a part of yourself, you are always holding back, it will always rule you. Your quintessence runs through this craft as the blood runs through your veins. I implore you, embrace it, learn it.  _ Control it _ so you can never worry it will control you.” 

Shiro takes a shaky breath. “It’s easier said than done, Ulaz.” He still sounds as if he doesn’t believe, and Ulaz expects that. It really will take time. 

“While within the safety of these walls, will you try?”

Shiro looks up at his face again, seeking something to ground him. Ulaz returns the gaze, unwavering, a silent promise that he doesn’t intend to let Shiro fall while taking this chance.

“I will. Tomorrow.”

Ulaz smiles, bending to nuzzle Shiro’s jaw with a hum of approval. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me about Uliro and Voltron on my [tumblr](paladinpuppypile.tumblr.com)!


End file.
